Madness and Ashes
by dashabout
Summary: Mary and Matthew are looking forward to their upcoming wedding, but Richard Carlisle has other ideas.
1. Chapter 1

Lady Mary and Anna had walked to the village from the Abbey, Lady Mary noting the pleasant spring weather and the need for both of them to stretch their legs after a morning filled with answering wedding correspondence and organizing gifts. The wedding was seven weeks away, so Mary's days were filled with planning, organizing, and daydreaming. So much had changed since last January, the fateful month that changed her future from one of a tension-filled life with Sir Richard to one of joy with Matthew. For reasons unknown to her, Sir Richard had not published the Pamuk story, but even if he had, she knew she had Matthew's love and support. That was all she needed because his strength sustained her. She could not wait to become his wife. Matthew was the first, and only, man who treated her as something other than an object. She had been pawned off on Patrick, ruined by Kemal, and misused by Richard—even her papa at one time considered her a means to an end. Only Matthew truly valued her, and she relished the idea of spending the rest of her life with him. And she knew he was the only man she would ever love.

Mary was overjoyed to find herself now bound to someone she loved beyond all measure. She knew it was a miracle, one that she never thought possible. Her experience with Pamuk aside, she knew little about the mechanics of love, but being with Matthew kindled passion in her that was both thrilling and, if she were truly honest, a little frightening. They seldom had a chance to be alone, but when they were, their ache for one another almost was excruciating. Holding hands inevitably led to caresses; caresses led to embraces; embraces led to kisses that were so powerful both of them were left weak. Keeping the promise not to consummate their relationship until their wedding night became more and more difficult as their wedding day approached. And how they enjoyed each other's company! Laughing came easily to them, and they held spirited debates on all sorts of topics, each one appreciating the other's quick wit and clever banter. Oh, how she looked forward to the future!

* * *

As Anna walked out of the village bakery, she was startled when she saw Lady Mary entering the back seat of a silver Rolls Royce she didn't recognize. Mary had sent Anna to the bakery for fresh scones and had told her she would meet her in front of the post office when she finished her own errands. Then Lady Mary planned to walk to Crawley House where Mr. Crawley and his mother expected her for tea, and Anna would return to the abbey. She knew Lady Mary would not change their plans without letting her know, so Anna shivered with anxiety and hurried to Crawley House to let Mr. Crawley know about Lady Mary's strange disappearance.

* * *

When Mary was waiting for Anna on the sidewalk in front of the post office, she noticed a silver Rolls Royce approach slowly. She was not familiar with that particular vehicle although she knew Sir Anthony Strallan had a fondness for Rolls Royces and purchased new ones on a fairly regular basis. _Goodness. How many toys does that man have?_ As it pulled up alongside her, she was shocked to see Sir Richard in the backseat. She hadn't seen him since January although she had heard he visited the village occasionally because he continued to make improvements to Haxby Park. Until now she never had occasion to run into him. After breaking their engagement, she had no desire to deal with his anger. His possessiveness led more than once to arguments that resulted in her being bruised and desperately unhappy. The suave man she first met at Cliveden had transformed into someone she feared and loathed, so ending their engagement was a great relief. Concerned that Richard's obsession with her hadn't ended, Matthew had told her to let him know if Richard contacted her. Thankfully, he had not.

What Mary and Matthew did not know was Richard had kept up with her whereabouts and wedding news through his newspaper contacts and through local villagers he had paid to keep him apprised of her activities. He'd had Matthew followed, too, although the bastard figured out what he was doing, so he had to call off that particular activity. Nevertheless, he bided his time until he could set a plan into motion that would bring Mary back to him. Haxby was the key, of course. He had to have a place worthy of her ready for them to live in, so now that the renovations were complete, he could begin. It might take some convincing on his part, but he knew eventually she would come around. The broken engagement was simply a hitch in his plans. She obviously didn't know her own mind. That blond charlatan with the flashing blue eyes had bewitched her. Richard had to have her back. They were made for each other, weren't they?—both of them intelligent, fiery, and sensual. She would bring him into the heart of the aristocracy that he so coveted. With her on his arm, all doors would be open to him. But that wasn't the sole reason for his determination to possess her. For months, he had fantasized about her glistening skin writhing passionately under his hands and mouth and her legs and mouth parting eagerly to receive him. He wondered what she had learned from the Turk. When he would inevitably lose his erection during these fantasies, he'd imagine tying her spread eagle on the four-poster bed he had purchased for their bedroom and using his cat-o'-nine tails on her luminescent, white flesh while she pleaded for more. Or he would picture her body secured with silken ropes and doubled over the velvet-upholstered settee he had designed for the express purpose of taking her from behind. This erotic vision almost always did the trick.

"Lady Mary, I'm delighted to see you." His voice positively oozed with what she was sure he considered charm. It made her shiver. _What an odious man. He's absolutely serpentine._ "It's been a long time. How are your wedding preparations coming along?" Richard's eyes narrowed, and his mouth curled. Looking at her made him recall the fantasies he had engaged in the previous evening. He couldn't wait to act on them.

Mary almost ignored his question, but chose to acknowledge his presence by replying curtly, "Sir Richard. Things are fine. Thank you for asking." She knew he would be aware that she and Matthew planned a late spring wedding, but she certainly did not want to discuss the particulars with him. _Really, Richard. Let's just move on. God, it looks as if he's salivating._ Just looking at him made her shiver with revulsion. She dreaded telling Matthew about this meeting. She turned toward the bakery to join Anna in order to avoid further conversation with him.

Richard leaned forward and opened the motor's back door. Mary stepped back cautiously. "Won't you join me for a little jaunt out to Haxby to see the improvements?" he asked. _Never in a million years. Where in blazes is Anna?_ Mary resisted the urge to turn and run.

"Thank you, no, Sir Richard. I'm expected elsewhere." She knew better than to mention Matthew's name, considering she sensed how much Sir Richard loathed him after their final confrontation. As she turned to look for Anna, she heard Sir Richard's cold, even voice. _What now?_

"I insist."

She looked back at him and saw to her horror that he was pointing a pistol at her. He motioned with the gun for her to enter the car, so she stepped in, her heart racing nearly out of control. _Dear God, what am I going to do? What can he possibly be thinking?_

"Drive on," Richard ordered the driver, who nodded once and headed down the road to Haxby.


	2. Chapter 2

_Note: This chapter contains scenes of violence that might be upsetting to some readers. Please understand that this part of the story deals with madness and obsession, but rest assured all will be well in the end!_

* * *

Anna was out of breath when she arrived at Crawley House. When Molesley answered the door, she pushed her way inside and sputtered, "Is Mr. Crawley home?"

Matthew appeared from the drawing room. "Anna? Is something wrong? Where's Lady Mary?" He could tell from Anna's harried demeanor that she was upset.

"Oh, Mr. Crawley, I don't know what to think. I was to meet Lady Mary in front of the post office after we finished our errands, but I saw her get into a motor that drove out of the village. She would've told me if she had changed her plans." At this point tears began to course down Anna's cheeks in spite of her best efforts to control them.

Matthew took her by the arm and led her into the drawing room. He asked Molesley to bring in some tea and then asked, "Now, Anna, can you describe the motor? In which direction was it going? Please calm down and tell me what you remember."

* * *

Richard said nothing to Mary as they drove away from the village. He held the gun in his right hand and caressed its barrel with his left. To Mary he appeared almost to be in a trance. He made no move to touch her, content merely to focus on the gun. _Calm. I must remain calm. I don't know what he's thinking. What in the world do I do now?_ Her worst fears were confirmed, however, when the car pulled to a stop in front of Haxby. Richard smoothly exited the motor, turned, and held his hand out to her. She recoiled against the opposite door momentarily until he pointed the gun at her.

"Get out, my dear."

She refused to take his hand but complied. The motor moved around to the back of the house as Richard took Mary's arm roughly and pulled her to the front door. He opened it, pressed the gun against her back, and forced her inside.

When she entered Haxby's great hall, Mary faltered because she knew without a doubt she was in trouble. Richard locked the door behind them, the clatter echoing in the marble-floored space. He still held the gun and waved it about nonchalantly as he moved around the room.

"I am quite pleased by the results. No doubt you will be, too," he stated arrogantly. "It will be a showplace once you have moved in."

She looked around and was immediately horrified by the décor. Hanging on the blood-red walls were huge tapestries depicting all sorts of disturbing images of deviancy—Bacchanalian revels, orgies, and bestiality. Her eyes grew wide as she faced Richard and saw his hooded eyes and leering grin. _My God. This is a nightmare. How do I get out of here?_

"Why did you bring me here, Sir Richard?" she asked, her steady voice masking the fear and revulsion she felt in her heart.

"I insist you call me Richard. Naturally, to show you how the house has been prepared for you," he replied effortlessly. "This is where you belong. We will make each other very happy here, my dear." He strutted around the room, obviously pleased with its design scheme. Facing her, obviously aroused, he moved his eyes up and down her body and licked his lips in anticipation. Tiny beads of sweat had formed on his brow.

Mary was shocked at his words, and an icy realization hit her. She knew she was trapped, and no one knew where she was. _A madman. He's a madman_. Her heart pounding in her chest, she raised her chin and stated firmly, "Richard, you can't be serious. You know our engagement ended months ago, so there's no point in rehashing this…."

"Bitch!" He slapped her—hard—sending her flying across the floor. She caught herself on the bannister, reeling from the impact, her head buzzing from the force of the blow. Her lower lip throbbed, and she tasted blood in her mouth. _My God. How did I ever think I could handle him? What can I do to stop him?_ _Oh, God, Matthew. I'm in terrible trouble._ Trembling, she stood to face him, wiped her mouth with her hand, saw the blood, and was aware she had to use extreme caution not to inflame him further. She wasn't sure she would be able to stay composed in the face of his madness.

"Obviously, you're distressed I refused you," she said in the most resolute voice she could manage, "but surely you realize by now we'd never be happy. If you'll allow me to leave, I won't breathe a word about what has happened today." _I've got to figure out how to get away from him. Calm down, Mary. Try to stay calm._ But she knew she couldn't remain composed for long. She realized Richard posed more than a threat—he had gone long past thinking about the ramifications of his actions—if he were sane, he would know he couldn't keep her at Haxby, that Matthew and her family would find out. No, he was not in his right mind, so he was much more dangerous now than he ever was during their engagement.

He laughed, "Let you leave? I have no intention of ever letting you out of my sight again. You didn't really believe I'd give up so easily, did you? I certainly won't hand you over to that bastard cousin of yours. I've waited long enough to have you, and I always get what I want, you know that. Now, I don't want to harm you, but you really must learn that I will not tolerate any resistance from you. You must learn obedience. Now, let me show you around." He stared at her intently, walked toward her, and reached for her waist.

For the first time in her life, Mary experienced blind panic and bolted for the door. She managed to turn the lock and open the door, emitting a brief scream as Richard grabbed her, slammed the door, and used his body to pin her face first into it. She was shocked by his strength. He ran the barrel of the handgun up and down her back and on either side of her neck, and then used it to undo her upswept hair, causing it to tumble down her back and hairpins to scatter onto the floor. _Oh, God, oh God, oh God, help me._

"Richard, let me go at once! You cannot get away with this." The tone of her voice belied her fear.

Then Mary felt Richard's hot breath on her neck and shuddered as he rubbed his face into her hair. _My God, what can I do to stop this? He's insane…._ Richard continued to inhale and exhale deeply against her. She struggled against him, but the force of his weight kept her pinned. _Oh, Matthew, where are you? Did Anna even notice when I left the village? Oh, Matthew, I'm so sorry, so sorry…._

"Please, Richard, please let me go," she implored. _Let me go home, let me be with my love, my family. Please let me go…._ Richard only groaned in response and continued to nuzzle her neck. He nearly was overcome by her scent.

Try as she might, she couldn't stop her tears. The more she struggled, the harder he pushed against her. His strength overpowered her, and she feared what the end result of this confrontation would be. _He has no intention of letting me go. He'll kill me here. Oh, Matthew, where are you, my darling? I love you so much…. Fight! I have to fight, but he's so strong._

Mary began to scream, hoping someone would come to her aid. Her cries echoed around the room and seemed to enrage Richard. "There's no one here to hear you," he grunted into her ear, which caused her to choke back her sobs and thrash against him. She had no way of knowing he had hired only a chauffeur, not a staff. That was to be her job; he couldn't be bothered. Haxby was empty except for the two of them. Her screams would go unheeded, and he would have her all to himself. He stuck the gun in his waistband, turned her around, and pinned her shoulders to the door. Wild eyed, he forced his lips onto her mouth, and as he pulled away, she was horrified to see the blood from her torn lip smeared on his face. _I'm going to be sick. Maybe if I were sick he'd leave me alone._ He moaned with hunger and kissed her again, trying to force his tongue into her mouth. She resisted him by clamping her lips together and pushing against his chest, desperate to free herself from his grasp.

He ran his hands up and down her body, his eyes filled with black desire, a lustful smile on his lips that accentuated the creases on his face. As his body pressed her to the door, he attacked her neck with passionate, open-mouthed kisses, nipping and tearing at her and leaving marks on her tender flesh. She scratched, she cried, and she flailed—nothing stopped his assault. He practically was foaming at the mouth when he raised his head and looked into her eyes.

He alternated between kissing her and muttering, "Don't you know no one will ever love you as I do? You're mine, Mary, no one else's. I ache for you all the time. We're good together, Mary. I want you. I alone will have you, no one else. No one else. You're mine. No one else can have you. No one." He was sweating profusely and left a slick film that smelled of musk and cigar and desperation on her skin. She blanched. _Will I ever be rid of this stench? This sensation of slime and filth? Keep fighting. Fight him. God, give me strength._

Still struggling, Mary caught her breath when she saw Richard's eyes move down her body. He tore open her bodice and grabbed her breasts through her corselet. Intending to use his mouth on her, he leaned in toward her body, but she fought wildly against him, using her fists on his face and chest and screaming for someone, anyone, to help her. Richard was deaf to her cries. His hands tried to raise her skirt as she screamed and battered at him. _Please, God, give me the strength to fight him off. I will not let him do this._ Enraged, he slapped her again, which caused her to lose her balance and fall to the floor. Her ears rang and her vision blurred; she lost her bearings and was unable to fight him off. He fisted his left hand into her cascading hair, wrapped it around her neck like a silken noose, and roughly raised her to her feet. With his right arm wrapped around her waist, he began to force her toward the staircase, intending to take her to the bedroom he'd designed specifically for her. _What is he doing? Ow, my hair. Why can't I catch my breath? What's happening? Where is he dragging me? Oh, God. This is a nightmare. Please….Please….Please…..Oh, Matthew, I need you._


	3. Chapter 3

After listening to Anna's story, Matthew had a feeling Richard Carlisle was involved in Mary's disappearance. He hadn't told Mary of Richard's attempt to have him followed because he knew she wanted her life—their life together—to move on from the nightmare of her engagement to Richard. Short of traveling to Richard's London office to warn him to stay away from Mary, Matthew had done everything he could think of to protect her from Richard's looming presence. Irritated that Robert did not share his concerns, Matthew felt Richard posed a real threat to Mary. Richard's hair-trigger temper made itself known many times at the Abbey—even Robert couldn't turn a blind eye to the bruises Richard's grip left on Mary's upper arms when something she said or did displeased him—but Robert, ever the gentleman, dismissed his heir's concerns labeling Richard's actions "water under the bridge." So, after speaking with Carson, Anna, and the outside staff, Matthew insisted Mary never travel alone, even into the village or on the Abbey's grounds and also insisted she tell him if Richard attempted to contact her in any way. Thankfully, so far, he had worried for naught. Richard appeared to have disappeared from Mary's life; however, Matthew still was wary. Now, his fears rose to the surface, and he grabbed his army revolver and his coat and headed on foot to Haxby, telling his mother and Anna to remain at Crawley House until he returned.

When he was halfway to Haxby's long, winding drive, Matthew could see the house in the distance. His mind was jumbled with possibilities. What if Mary had gone to Haxby willingly? How angry would she be when he showed up breathless and irate? Was Richard even there? Had Mary simply entered a friend's automobile in order to enjoy a simple respite from the day's activities? Sir Anthony Strallan owned a stable of Rolls Royces. Maybe he had offered her a ride. No matter the result, Haxby was the first place Matthew had to look. At this point, he had no idea where else to go. He thought he saw a brief flash at Haxby's front door—a fleeting glimpse, really—that looked as if someone had opened and closed the door quickly. Maybe someone _was_ home, and he could get some answers.

* * *

Barely able to breathe because of Richard's grip on her hair and her own struggle to get away from him, Mary staggered and fought as he pulled her toward the staircase. Panting with exertion, he reached the steps and glared at her as she continued to resist his efforts. She had no intention of letting him win easily. Finally, he grabbed the pistol from his waistband and stuck it under her chin. _I cannot bear this. I cannot survive what he will do to me. How do I stop this? Oh, God, how do I end this?_ "Now, my dear, are you going to come with me willingly, or am I going to have to do some more convincing? Believe me, a veritable garden of delights awaits us upstairs. You won't ever want to leave."

"Richard," she sputtered, her words coming in gasps, "you can't be serious. You can't think for one minute that you'll get away with this." Despite his superior physical strength, she resolved to fight him to the end, if necessary.

"On the contrary, my dear…." Richard looked to the top of the stairs and began to visualize her willingness to disrobe for him, kneel at his feet, and pleasure him in ways he'd been dreaming of since he met her. His eyes glazed over as he remembered the settee with its red silken ropes just waiting for her lithe body to lean over so he could pound into her and relieve the growing pressure inside his fevered brain. He visualized her splayed on the bed, aching for him to devour her in ways he had only read about in the novels he read for his private pleasure. The cuffs on the wall awaited her slender wrists and trim ankles. She would beg him to use her as he wished and obey his every command. He had a drawer-full of toys just waiting for her—whips, glass rods, vibrators, collars, straps, and such—that he was impatient to employ. He also had her wardrobe ready that he was certain guaranteed total pleasure for them both. His mind churned with his lewd visions. The intensity of his desire for her had not subsided since he met her at Cliveden; the culmination of that desire awaited him at the top of the staircase.

His reverie was broken, however, when Mary gathered the strength to try to get away as his grip on the gun relaxed and it lowered from her chin. Unfortunately, Richard had not released his grip on her hair, so when she tried to run, he jerked her back toward him. She let out another piercing scream before he began to ascend the stairs with her in tow. The anger and cold dread that ran through her veins was intensified by what she knew Richard was capable of. She had withstood all sorts of troubles in her life, but she never had faced what awaited her at Richard's hands. Nevertheless, she _would_ fight. She would _never_ let him win.

* * *

Matthew steeled himself as he started down the drive to Haxby. He had stopped running so as not to arouse suspicion. He placed the revolver in his coat pocket and smoothed his hair. He hoped he had overreacted when Anna had shared her fears about Mary's safety. He thought of Mary's independence, how she tended to face obstacles with strength and resolve. He knew she was not one to take chances, so the odds of her agreeing to meet with Sir Richard willingly were beyond Matthew's comprehension. Maybe he was just letting his imagination run away with him. She would have a perfectly plausible explanation, wouldn't she? It occurred to him he would have to devise a story excusing his appearance at Haxby if his hunch were wrong. Then he heard what could only be described as a bloodcurdling scream coming from inside the house. His heart began to pound; he _knew_ it was she. Pulling the gun from his pocket, he began to run.


	4. Chapter 4

Halfway up the staircase, Mary tripped on the hem of her skirt, causing Richard to stop and yank her back to her feet. Scowling with irritation, he pulled her skirt up and snarled at her to hold it. Impatient to get her upstairs, he was becoming annoyed with her obvious reticence and was determined to brook no further delay from her. He turned to continue his trek when he heard the front door burst open and slam into the red plaster wall.

Matthew stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his blue eyes blazing, horrified by what he saw. _Oh, Matthew, thank God you're here. I love you so._ There in the middle of the stairway at least fifty feet away from him were Mary and Richard—she was in a torn, blood-stained frock, her face flushed and battered and her hair wrapped around her neck and held in Richard's fist; Richard was drenched in sweat, wild-eyed, gasping, holding a gun to her neck. His worst fears were realized, but Matthew held his gun steady, resisting the urge to bound up the stairs and tear Mary from Richard's grasp. He knew better than to act rashly because of Carlisle's hold on Mary and their precarious position halfway up the marble staircase.

"Let her go, you fucking bastard," he growled.

Richard glared at Matthew, angered by the interruption. "I beg your pardon? Sorry, Crawley, she's with me now. You're not welcome here." Even in the throes of madness, Richard's voice was imperious. He looked down at Mary, his eyes glazed and fervent. "Isn't that right, my dear?" He couldn't resist the urge to burrow his face into her neck, causing her to whimper helplessly as she struggled against him. He then looked back at Matthew, who had moved forward slightly, and smirked. He hadn't gone to all this trouble to let her go now.

Enraged by this manifestation of his worst fears, yet realizing he had to remain calm, Matthew's cool demeanor belied his pounding heart. Mary was in grave danger, and he had to keep his head if she were to survive this ordeal. He focused on her perilous state and tried to figure out his next move. This was proving to be a deadly standoff. Knowing Mary as he did, he was sure she had attempted to reason with Carlisle, but he had to try. Keeping his voice even, Matthew said, "Richard, come down, and we'll talk this through." _He's insane, Matthew. He won't listen. Trying to reason with him won't work._ Mary looked at him, despair pooling in her eyes.

Richard was visibly agitated. "Oh, but, you see, we're headed upstairs. No time to talk, I'm afraid. Maybe another time. Sorry to disappoint, old chap. Come, dear." He turned to move up the stairs but never took his eyes off Mathew.

"I'm warning you, Carlisle! Let her go." Matthew's muscles were visibly tense—as if he were spring loaded—but his gun remained steady.

 _Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God._ Tears filled Mary's eyes as Richard put her neck in a death grip using the crook of his left elbow, her hair still gripped in his hand. He turned back, faced Matthew, and pointed his gun at him. "You are not welcome here, Crawley. I'm afraid I must insist you leave us— _now_." Crawley was becoming a nuisance who was keeping him from his tryst with the woman in his arms.

"On the contrary, Carlisle, I'm not going anywhere," Matthew said evenly, his mind racing as he tried to figure out his next move. Although he knew he was a good marksman, he couldn't risk Mary's life by taking anything but a clear shot.

Mary watched powerlessly as the love of her life stood tall and resolute. _Thank you, my darling, but it's no use. Please protect yourself. He'll kill me before he'll let me go._ Terrified for herself and now for Matthew, she attempted to cry out to him but was thwarted as Richard yanked the silky-smooth tether around her neck. Her hands flew to her throat to relieve the pressure, but Richard only pulled harder, which caused her to wilt from the intensity of his grip. She believed truly this situation could end only in tragedy. Richard's grip was so strong, and she already was bruised and exhausted from her struggle.

Matthew blanched when he saw Mary droop in Carlisle's grasp. No experience during the war had prepared Matthew for this scenario. Mary's life was being threatened by someone who, without a doubt, was deranged. Her face told Matthew everything she was feeling—terror, anguish, shock, love for him—and his own determination to save her was his sole focus. He thought his mind and heart would explode with his love for her and with the hatred he felt for the man who held her life in his hands. Although his revolver was pointed at Richard, there was little chance of his firing it because Richard now was using Mary as a shield.

"I won't allow you to get away with this, Carlisle. Let her go _now_!"

"Well, then, Crawley, you leave me no choice." Richard raised his gun and aimed it at Matthew, but before he could fire it, Mary gathered what little strength she had left, grabbed his right wrist, and attempted to wrestle the gun away.

"MARY! NO!" cried Matthew. _I love you, my darling. I love you. I love you so…._

She barely felt the bullet rip through her body and never heard the second blast.


	5. Chapter 5

The sight at the bottom of the stairs was horrific. Two bodies—both covered in blood—lay with their arms and legs flung out widely. Matthew knelt over Mary's broken form, alternately kissing her pale lips and trying desperately, using his coat, to stop the flow of blood from the two holes caused by the single bullet's entering and leaving her body. Richard, with a bloody cavity in his forehead thanks to Matthew's skill with the revolver, lay still—neck broken, eyes open yet unseeing, Mary's hair still gripped in his left hand.

Mary was breathing, this Matthew knew, but he didn't know the extent of her injuries outside of the obvious one. He tried to clear his head. Moving her was not an option, but how was he to get help? Wait! Surely, Richard had installed a telephone somewhere on the premises! He raced to the doorway of what he hoped was a sitting room, where, thankfully, he found one. He called the Abbey, roaring at Carson, "Mary! At Haxby! Call Clarkson! Hurry!" and then threw the receiver down to run back to Mary.

"My darling? Please. Wake up. I'm here. You're safe. Please don't leave me, my darling girl. My love. Please." He wept over her unresponsive body, looking desperately for some sign of consciousness. She was so pale and lifeless. What horrors had Richard put her through? Judging from her battered face and maimed neck, he had attacked her with tremendous fury. She and Matthew had been through so much together; surely she would not be taken from him now? He crouched beside her, untangling her hair from Richard's lifeless hand, and spoke to her tenderly, "You know, my darling, we will be married in seven weeks. You will be the most beautiful bride, and I'll be so proud to be your husband. And our children…. I love you…I love you so." At a loss at what else to do before help arrived, it suddenly occurred to Matthew that water and wet cloths might help revive her, so he raced upstairs and looked for a bath, finding one just off the main staircase. Clambering back downstairs with several wet towels, he pressed one gently to each of the wounds in her side and wiped Mary's battered face with another to remove the dried blood, again whispering comforting words to her motionless form.

Suddenly, he heard his mother's cry, "Matthew!" and looked up to see her and Anna racing toward him through the open door. Immediately following were Dr. Clarkson and Robert with Cora and Edith trailing behind. They all were stunned to see the scene before them—Cora, Edith, and Anna gasping at the sight of Mary's pale, broken body, Matthew's clothing bloodstained from his efforts to revive her. Richard, obviously, was dead, but what of Mary? Isobel moved immediately to Dr. Clarkson's side to help him and to comfort her son as Cora and Edith clutched each other in horror. Anna stood apart from the group, her mind reeling, sickened by the image of her mistress, no! _her_ _friend_ , lying motionless on the floor. Once reality set in, the group was further shocked by the space's décor. The garish tapestries and red walls seemed to echo the scene at the base of the stairs. Speechless, they gaped at the strange aberrations, sensing that Sir Richard had a side to him they never suspected.

"Dear God. What went on here?" demanded Robert. As Matthew tried to explain what he knew, Dr. Clarkson knelt down beside Mary and began his examination.

"The bullet has gone completely through her body, and she's lost a lot of blood." He looked at Matthew's stricken face. "Thank God you knew to put a compress on the wounds, or she would have bled to death before I got here. You saved Lady Mary's life, young man." Matthew leaned over, his hands on his knees, and tried to catch his breath. Dr. Clarkson continued, "Judging from the contusion on the back of her head, she no doubt has a concussion from the fall down the stairs, and it looks as if her shoulder and arm are broken. I can't say more at this point, but we need to get her to hospital so I can examine her more thoroughly. We are dealing with significant trauma here."

* * *

For four days Matthew sat vigil at Mary's hospital bedside, refusing to leave her. Her pallor and comatose state broke his heart. He ministered to her every need while using tender words and caresses to plead with her to come back to him. He read stories and poetry to her until he was hoarse, brought in a gramophone to play soothing music, wrote love letters to her and then read them aloud, and changed her bandages and bathed her so gently that even the most experienced nurse was impressed with his tenderness. Most touching to those who observed him with her was his declaration of love delivered at the top of each hour: "My darling, I'm here with you. Rest well and know I'll love you through eternity. The best is yet to be." Each member of his family urged him to get some rest—that he couldn't help Mary if he collapsed from exhaustion—but he refused their entreaties, saying he would never forgive himself if he weren't with her when she awoke.

The damage to Mary's body was, indeed, grievous. Although the injuries to her face and neck were appalling enough, the severity of her other injuries astounded the hospital staff—a dislocated shoulder, a broken arm, a severely-bruised hip, broken ribs, a concussion, and multiple bruises and abrasions. It was obvious she had put up a terrific fight against a much stronger opponent. The gunshot wound alone might have been fatal had the bullet passed a couple of inches lower or higher. Dr. Clarkson was amazed Mary hadn't died from the combination of injuries, which he attributed to a miracle far beyond his capabilities.

At nine o'clock on the fourth night of his watch, Matthew leaned over to give Mary his hourly declaration of love and a gentle kiss. She stirred slightly and sighed. Matthew was afraid his eyes were deceiving him.

 _She was in so much pain. It hurt to breathe. Why on earth did she agree to attend the ball? She looked down at her red dress. She didn't remember choosing this particular frock. It weighed her down and forced her to move with such effort that she strained even to take a step. She certainly couldn't dance. And the music. It was a cacophony of rumbles and screeches—totally discordant. Figures swirled around her, causing her head to reel as she tried to focus. Suddenly, the figures disappeared, and she was alone in the cavernous ballroom. Someone behind her called her name, and she turned to see Matthew standing at the far end of the room. She tried to move toward him, but something—someone?—was holding her back. "Come to me, Mary," Matthew's deep, silken voice called to her. She opened her mouth but couldn't speak. Why had she swallowed cotton and feathers? Looking down at her feet, she saw that the bottom of her crimson gown was pooling around her feet and flowing over the floor. She suddenly found herself in Matthew's hold but was unable to raise her arms to follow his lead as the dance began. The pain in her shoulder was excruciating—in fact, her whole body seemed to be rebelling against her efforts to move. She looked up, intending to apologize and saw that Matthew's face had been replaced by Richard's. She tried to scream. He used a vise to grip her side and began whirling her around the dance floor until they both dropped, breathless, over the edge of a cliff. The ground rushed up to meet her._

"My darling? Mary, can you hear me?" He knew better than to jostle her, so he placed his hand on her cheek and rubbed her chin gently with his thumb.

Mary's eyelids fluttered, and she opened her eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

When Mary looked up at him, to Matthew it was a gilded moment—one that would remain imprinted on his brain the rest of his life. After all she had undergone at the hands of that madman, after suffering injuries from which she might never recover, his Mary was alive, looking at him in wonder. His shoulders shook as he wept with relief. "Oh, thank God, thank God. My darling. I love you. Thank God you're back. Can you speak to me, my darling?"

Suddenly, Mary's eyes opened wide and reflected her sudden terror. Although her left arm was impeded by a cast, her right arm flailed wildly, batting at the air. _Oh, God, Where am I? Is Richard here? What has happened? Matthew? Matthew!_ Matthew grabbed her right hand, put it to his lips, and immediately tried to put her mind at rest. "You're safe, my darling, you're safe. I'm with you. No one will hurt you ever again. Please be calm, Mary. All is well, I promise. I love you so." He punctuated these sentiments with soft kisses to her forehead, cheeks, and lips, and she finally inhaled deeply, trusting the love and truth she saw in his azure eyes. She tried to speak, but her throat was constricted and dry. Matthew cradled her head in his right hand while holding a glass of water to her lips with his left. She sipped carefully, silently thanking him with her eyes.

She whispered, "Why do I ache so? What happened to me?" She became agitated again. "Richard. He put his hands on me, Matthew. I tried to fight…. Get away…. I couldn't…. He was too strong. So strong." Her voice rose. "He tore my dress. He attacked me. Oh, God. He's mad, Matthew. Truly, I tried to fight him, I promise. My head hurts so I can hardly think." She was in great pain, unable to move her left shoulder. Her left hip, too, was throbbing, and it hurt to breathe.

In a soothing voice, Matthew responded, "Shhhhh, darling. I know you did. You were so brave, my darling. You have some injuries. We'll talk about them in a bit. Right now, you need to rest and not worry." He kissed her gently, reverently, as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Her hand fidgeted with the covers until Matthew trapped it under his own. "But, Matthew, he'll never leave us alone! I know it. He'll come after me again. He'll try to kill you. We'll never be safe!" Mary continued to cry.

He gently brushed wisps of her hair back from her face. "Mary, listen to me. Richard Carlisle will never touch you again. We're free of him. I promise you. Are you listening, my darling? Richard is gone. Dead. Out of our lives. Out of _your_ life. I swear to you."

As Matthew used his thumbs gently to wipe away her tears, Mary looked at him questioningly, realization slowly reflected in her eyes. "He's really gone? For good? Oh, God. The gun. He was going to kill you. I think I must have grabbed his arm. Did I? What happened?"

Quietly, Matthew related the events he witnessed: Mary turning on the stairs and fighting Richard for control of the gun…both of them losing their balance…Mary screaming…Richard cursing…the gun firing…Mary crumpling…Richard looking up in time to see Matthew aim at his head…both bodies tumbling like ragdolls down the stairs. What Matthew did not describe to Mary was the blood that sprayed the stairs as they fell and Richard's empty eyes staring at Mary as he lay, lifeless, next to her, his hand in a death grip still clasping the chestnut rope around her neck. He did not tell her about his own deafening scream and the terror that clutched his heart as he watched her plummet down the stairs. He was too far away to break her fall, to protect her from landing with a sickening thud. He thought surely she was dead, killed by a lunatic who stalked her and tormented her and caused her death. He never would tell her that he believed his own life to be over because he couldn't live, wouldn't live, if she no longer walked the earth. He didn't tell her about the cold rage he felt as he aimed his revolver between Carlisle's glowing eyes and fired. Instead, he told her of his utter pride in her bravery and that they had the rest of their lives to love each other and to be happy.

* * *

The village virtually hummed when the news broke about the tragedy at Haxby Park. People gathered on street corners and in pubs to swap both rumors and facts, speculating about the reasons for Sir Richard's actions and the severity of Lady Mary's injuries. The house had been sealed tight, no one allowed to enter until after the immediate inquest into Sir Richard's death, which determined that his killing was justified—as well as just. One week after the inquest, the seal on the front door was broken, and Robert accompanied a small group of men that included the local constable on a mission to investigate the house's contents in order to ascertain the reasons for Sir Richard's heinous actions. Matthew planned to join them after seeing to Mary, but he was in no hurry to revisit the place that caused him and Mary so much anguish. He arrived as the group discovered objects in the house that shook the strongest of them to their cores. Aside from the bloody aftermath of the confrontation on the stairway, the men waggled their heads at the décor and _tsked_ at the obvious deviancy of a man who had craved elevation into the realm of the aristocracy. The more closets and drawers and rooms they looked into, the more evidence they uncovered that confirmed the monstrous nature of the man who resided there. As he moved through the house, Matthew was ashen and feared there would be much worse to come.

He was right. One of the most disturbing discoveries was the bedroom to which Richard intended to take Mary although the men were not aware of his intentions on that particular day. As in the main hall, the walls were blood red upon which hung artwork that caused the most callous of them to blush. The moldings were gold; the bed, too, was finished with gold accents and red silk linens. Red silk cords hung from the bedposts, awaiting, surely, a victim of Sir Richard's lust. In the center of the room placed on a tiger skin was an oddly-shaped settee upholstered in black velvet with four red silk ropes attached to gilt lions' paws. The drawers and closets revealed devices seemingly created for sexual torture and clothing that could only be procured on the seedy backstreets of London or Paris. The men were appalled to see gold cuffs hanging from one of the walls, leading a few of them to speculate as to their use and another to whisper, "God in heaven, what kind of bloody torture chamber _is_ this?"

Matthew backed out of the bedchamber, thanking God Mary had not been subjected to the horrors awaiting her there and went downstairs to look for Robert. He prayed there was nothing else in the house that would unsettle him further.

But his prayer was not answered. The most disturbing room was the one Robert assumed to be Sir Richard's study, for hanging on the long wall across from the massive desk was a huge painting of Mary. She was nude, stretched out on a bed, her legs apart. One of her hands was caressing one of her breasts; the other hand was placed on her pubic mound. Her face was that of a woman in ecstasy. Robert was alone when he discovered this room, and his first reaction upon seeing the painting was to vomit. He leaned over Sir Richard's pristine desk and spewed the contents of his stomach onto the blotter. Afterwards, Robert shakily berated himself for being such a fool for failing to recognize Sir Richard's vile character.

Robert tried to remove the painting from the wall but discovered the frame was screwed into the paneling, which thwarted his efforts. He carried no pocket knife; if he had, he would have cut the painting from the frame and destroyed it on the spot. Robert still was in the study when Matthew arrived. He was seated in a wing chair, his back to the painting, as Matthew entered the room, having been directed there by one of the men in the group.

"Ro…?" Matthew practically was struck dumb when he saw the painting. He, too, was revolted when faced with the erotic rendering of his beloved fiancée although he managed not to retch. "My God."

"We must destroy it, Matthew," Robert said softly.

Matthew could barely speak. "Indeed we must. The sooner the better."

"Is there a key in the desk? We have to lock the door until we have the chance to remove the damned thing. No one else can see this. My God, Mary must never know…." Robert put his head in his hands and tried to hold back his tears. He'd almost given his eldest daughter to this perverted monster. How could he ever look her in the eye again?

Matthew began opening the desk drawers, ignoring the stench emanating from the desk top. In a bottom drawer, he discovered a folder labeled _**Mary**_ that contained reports, evidently from hired investigators, detailing Mary's whereabouts since before the broken engagement. Riffling quickly through the documents, his anger rising, he also found photographs of Mary taken both before and after the engagement and recent ones of him and Mary, some taken within the past few weeks. Closing the folder, he placed it under his arm and continued to look for the key to the study's door.

"Found it." Matthew's stomach began to churn. "I have to get out of here, Robert. You do, too."

Wordlessly they left the room, and Matthew locked the door.


	7. Chapter 7

Mary's physical recovery was slow but steady. Matthew continued to stay with her as she got stronger, helping with her care. He provided emotional support to her as well, for as stoic as she tried to act in front of visitors, when left alone with Matthew, she tended to become morose. She needed his strength and reassurance to help her overcome the horror she experienced. When she repeatedly questioned what she could have done to drive Richard's obsession, Matthew assured her she had done nothing, that Richard's lunacy was the product of his diseased mind. After many hours of talking with Matthew and being held in his arms, she finally accepted that she was blameless and vowed to put the experience behind her. After two weeks in the Downton hospital, she was moved to the Abbey to the great relief of all involved in her care. The familiar surroundings were comforting although, instead of settling in her own bedroom, she continued her recovery downstairs in the room once occupied by Matthew during his convalescence during the war.

Matthew insisted on carrying her from the motor to the room, the rest of the family following close behind. "This is nice," noted Matthew as he gingerly deposited her on the bed, arranging the pillows behind her back and pulling the bedclothes up to her waist. With a wink he added, "You should feel right at home."

"Really, Matthew, you shouldn't joke about such things," she replied with a smile. "You know very well I came into this room only to check on your well-being, nothing more."

"And I shall return the favor, my darling." After planting a kiss on her forehead, he looked around the room. "Yes. I think this will do nicely. There is plenty of room for my cot."

"Whatever do you mean?" questioned Cora, her eyebrows nearly shooting off the top of her brow.

Mary arched an eyebrow, Edith giggled, and Robert cleared his throat. Violet didn't react at all.

"Cora, I absolutely insist on staying with Mary as she continues her recovery. I understand your objections; however, you must understand that her health is my priority. You may be sure nothing untoward will occur. I was with her nightly in the hospital; I will continue to be with her nightly here until she has fully recovered." He set his jaw, brooking no argument. She had been suffering from horrific nightmares since her ordeal, and he had been there to comfort her through every one of them. They left her shaken and sometimes unable to go back to sleep until she felt Matthew's strong arms around her and heard his words of comfort. She had had a particularly disturbing dream the previous night, and it took him almost an hour to calm her.

Cora looked questioningly at Robert who responded, "Cora, my dear, I think we will lose this argument. You know how diligent Matthew has been regarding Mary's care. I think in this case we must accede to his wishes."

"Really, Robert, but …."

"Do I have a say in this?" Mary's voice reflected a trace of irritation. Everyone turned to look at her as she settled the covers around herself. "It seems to me _I_ should be the one making demands."

"Actually, my darling, you have no choice regarding this decision," Matthew said sternly. "I promise not to hover too much, but I _will_ share this space with you for the foreseeable future." He gazed at her with such love and determination that she looked at him demurely and nodded.

Violet, who hadn't said a word, finally spoke authoritatively, "Matthew is right. Who better to look after Mary's needs than her future husband? I agree it's the look of the thing that often matters; however, in this case, no one but the family will know of this arrangement, so what harm will it do?"

"Very well. Now that that's settled, let's leave Mary to get some rest," said Edith. "I'll be back with some books for you in a bit. Is there anything else you need?" Edith's solicitous gesture came as no surprise to anyone in the room, for she was a changed person after Mary's ordeal. Losing her sister had been a real possibility—one that shocked her into the realization she and Mary needed to repair their relationship. She took the first steps while Mary was in hospital, and Mary reciprocated as soon as she was able.

"No, thank you, darling." But she added laughingly, "Just concentrate on bringing me romance novels this time, please. Those historical tomes are too dreary for words."

* * *

Matthew and Robert visited Haxby a week and a half after Mary came home from hospital. Still shaken from what they had discovered, when they returned to the Abbey in the late afternoon, they headed for the small library and the bottle of brandy Robert kept there. With their drinks in hand, they stood before the fireplace and watched the folder's contents go up in flames. They moved to chairs and sat in silence, still staring into the blaze.

"At least that pile of garbage is gone," said Robert softly.

"Do you think anyone else has been in Richard's study?" Matthew muttered, sitting with his head down and his elbows on his knees.

"I don't think so. The door was closed when I got there, and from what I understand, he hadn't hired any staff."

"Still, someone painted…that…that…ghastly portrait, and I seriously doubt if Richard hung it himself," replied Matthew resignedly.

"That's true. We'll just have to destroy it and pray no one connects it to Mary."

"When I think of what he had in store for her, I can hardly bear it, Robert."

"It's over, Matthew. She's safe and on the mend. You have a wonderful future ahead of you. Don't let's dwell on the negative."

"You're right," Matthew sighed. "Thank you. I'd best go check on Mary."

"Will you be eating dinner with her in her room?" This was a nightly occurrence since Mary was still unable to dress properly for dinner or to sit up for long periods of time. Matthew nodded. "Remind her that Cora, Edith, and I will be dining with Sir Anthony Strallen and won't be home until late this evening. Actually, I suppose I need to go upstairs and start getting ready now."

Matthew finished his drink, walked out of the study, and went directly to Mary's room. He stepped inside and found Anna fluffing the pillows behind Mary's back. The two women were giggling and stopped immediately when he made his presence known.

"What's this?" He smiled broadly at them, noting their red faces.

"Never you mind. It's women's talk, right Anna?"

"Right, Milady. Now, is there anything else you need?"

"No, thank you, Anna. I'll see you this evening."

Suppressing a smile, Anna left the room, closing the door behind her.

Now alone with Mary, Matthew smiled and moved closer to the bed. To him, she was, as always, a vision—freshly-bathed and glowing, her dark hair was plaited, her skin was luminous and healthy, her eyes were bright, and her smile lit up her face. Seeing her looking so well now compared to how she looked when he found her at Haxby filled Matthew with gratitude and joy. He sat on the edge of the bed and asked, "How are you feeling, my darling? Is your cast still bothering you?" He leaned over and kissed the fingers peeking out of the plaster. Her left arm from her shoulder to her wrist was immobilized, making her quite uncomfortable.

"It's fine, but it smells so horrible! I simply must convince Dr. Clarkson to cut it off." She made a disgusted face that Matthew found adorable. "I have to admit the pain is much better. I'm not nearly as sore as I was, either. I must say my bath felt marvelous." She blushed slightly as Matthew raised his eyebrows and grinned, his blue eyes twinkling. "So…how was your visit to Haxby?"

Matthew was speechless for a moment. "How did you know that's where I was going?"

"Edith let it slip accidently. She was so upset with herself. I tried to tell her I was fine, but I don't think she believed me. I really am all right, Matthew. I promise. Truly, I want to hear about it."

Before Matthew could begin to tell her what he could about Haxby, Cora came to the door.

"We're leaving for dinner with Sir Anthony in a few minutes, Mary. I just wanted to say 'good night' before we go. I'll see you both in the morning." She shot a warning glance at Matthew that left no doubt how she still felt about his sleeping arrangements. He gave her his brightest smile.

"Very well, Mama. Have a happy time. Good night."

After Cora left, Mary noted wryly, "Well, that's one good thing about being bedridden."

"What's that, my darling?"

"I don't have to sit and listen to Sir Anthony talk about farming and foxes by the hour." She took his hand. "Now, tell me about Haxby."


	8. Chapter 8

**_What follows is a difficult, frank discussion between Matthew and Mary regarding the contents of Haxby._**

* * *

Omitting the information about the portrait and the bedroom furnishings, Matthew told Mary of the plans to empty Haxby of its contents and to transfer its ownership to Richard's estranged sister who lived in Liverpool. (It was Robert's understanding that she planned to sell it as soon as possible, which was good news as far as he was concerned.) As he finished relating what he could about Haxby and some of what the men had discovered, he noticed she was staring down at her hands.

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, and asked quietly, "What aren't you telling me?" She knew him so well. "I'm strong, you know. Please tell me."

"Oh, my darling, you are the strongest woman I know. A storm braver. Truly. It's just that you've been through so much. I hate telling you something that may be hard for you to hear."

"But, Matthew, don't you see? I need to know everything, or I'll always wonder and be haunted. We have to recover from this together…the only way we will is if you tell me…things. It's the not knowing that's the hardest to bear."

He knew he would have to choose his words carefully when he told her about what he saw in that appalling bedroom; however, he resolved to take his knowledge of that abhorrent painting to his grave.

Matthew held her hand, took a deep breath, and began. "You know, don't you, that I never would hurt you in any way nor do anything to cause you physical pain?"

"Of course, Matthew. I trust you in all things."

"Thank you, my love." He kissed her gently. "Well, there are some people—evidently Carlisle was one of them—who find inflicting pain on others gives them great…um…satisfaction." Matthew knew that Mary had led a very sheltered life, despite her limited experience with Pamuk, so he had to choose his words carefully.

Mary raised an eyebrow. "Satisfaction? You mean they _enjoy_ hurting other people?"

"Yes. And in doing so, they achieve…uh…experience…uh…sexual…pleasure. For some people, it's the only way they _can_ …."

Mary was still for a moment, and then replied softly, "He said and did such ghastly things…and he did seem to enjoy hurting me."

"Oh, Mary, I'm so, so sorry. I don't know how to explain how guilty I feel that you had to experience those things. I should have been able to keep it from happening."

"Honestly, I don't think there's anything you could have done to prevent it, but you kept the _worst_ from happening. He was insane, Matthew. Think about the tapestries in the great hall. You know how lewd they were." She looked at him closely. "Were there other things in the house as well?"

"Yes, there were. The thing is…Richard had filled the bedroom with all sorts of furnishings…and devices…that might be used for…damn, I can't call it lovemaking." Matthew looked down and shook his head, unable to continue.

"You mean he planned to hurt me in some way so he could….Oh, my God."

He looked at her, his earnest blue eyes shimmering. "Mary, I wish with all my heart you never had to know what he had planned, but there's a good chance you'll hear about some of this in the village since several people are aware of what was found in the house. As hard as it is to talk about, I'd rather you hear it from me."

"Go on then, please."

"Well, the bedroom had devices designed to hold someone…captive…and…instruments that would cause great pain."

"What were they? Please, Matthew, tell me. I'll be all right, I promise." She began to tremble and a tear rolled down her cheek.

Matthew took her face in his hands.

"Are you sure you want to know?"

She nodded. "Yes…yes…. If you don't tell me, I'll always wonder. I'd much rather you tell me than someone else. But, please, would you hold me while we talk?"

"Of course, but please… _please_ , stop me if you're too uncomfortable hearing this." He leaned against the headboard and gathered her into his arms. Talking about this was going to be difficult for both of them.

"I will. I promise."

"Very well. Evidently, Richard had obtained furniture and other items that would allow him to…restrain you."

"Like what?"

"Well…there was a settee with cords attached to it. It had a kind of depression in the center of the back. He might have leaned you over it, tied you down, and…and…assaulted you." He held her tightly. "There also were ropes on the bedposts and manacles attached to a wall, all probably intended for the same thing."

She looked up at him despondently. "God, Matthew, no matter what I said to him, he wouldn't stop pawing me and groping me. I suppose that's what he intended when he forced me to the stairs."

He was sickened when he thought of Richard's putting his hands on Mary. "I'm so thankful you never saw that room, Mary. It's difficult enough just telling you about it."

"I must ask you, though; do some people enjoy being treated…restrained…in such ways? Is tying someone up during sex always considered depraved?"

"Not necessarily…usually that kind of activity is for…um…mutual satisfaction. I don't think that was Richard's intent, though. He evidently knew you would not be a…a…willing participant. The way you fought him proves that."

She shook her head. "No, I wouldn't have been, and I _did_ fight." She hesitated for a moment and closed her eyes. "You know, as soon as he grabbed me, I knew he intended to rape me. That's why he was taking me upstairs. " She paused and shuddered. "What else?"

He faltered before answering. "There were drawers filled with things such as whips, collars, blindfolds, and…er…vibrating devices, and the closets contained peculiar, revealing costumes. I can only assume he planned to use these things, as well."

Mary shuddered again. Matthew barely could hear her response. "He must have hated me so very much."

"I don't think 'hate' is the correct word, darling. I think he was absolutely enraged that you rejected him, and he snapped. His diseased mind wanted you punished, but he also wanted to possess you sexually. Think about how he treated you when you were engaged to him. He was so obsessed with you he wanted you all to himself and believed if he could control you, you'd never want anyone else. He confused obsession with love. He was sick, Mary, sick and depraved. There's a good chance he never had experienced normal sexual intimacy with anyone. People who love don't subject their loved ones to such depravity."

She paused a moment before speaking. "I know you're right, but when I think of what might have happened…." She leaned into his chest as he smoothed her hair. "I'm so thankful for you, Matthew—so thankful you found me at Haxby and so thankful you are willing to talk with me about this."

"Oh, Mary, I hope we'll always be able to talk about anything and everything. I'm sure there will be issues that we aren't comfortable with, but that doesn't mean they'll be off-limits."

"I agree. I just never realized such things existed. There's so much I don't know, I suppose." She cleared her throat. "Matthew?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are the things he planned for me in that bedroom always considered to be immoral?"

They both blushed at her question.

"Um…not necessarily, but the difference is that sort of activity should be based on trust and love, not simply on a desire to inflict pain or express rage in order to perform sexually. Do you understand?"

She looked up at him and smiled. "I do. I know we love and trust each other, so we'll never have to worry that what one of us wants during lovemaking will hurt the other."

"That's exactly right, my darling. My goal always will be to give you pleasure, and I hope you feel the same way. Honestly, I don't think there's anything wrong with…um…adventurous sex as long as both people consent. I don't know or understand how Richard came to view hurting you as a way to achieve sexual gratification, but thank God he didn't succeed."

"Yes, thank God," Mary whispered, as she settled into his arms.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Fair warning: things are going to get very steamy. If smut isn't your thing, you might want to skip this chapter.**_

* * *

After Matthew told her about what was discovered in Haxby, Mary looked up at him and saw such love and devotion in his eyes that a powerful emotion overtook her, and she reached for him, embracing him with her right arm and kissing him fervently. The intensity of her love for him was overwhelming. She had no doubt how much he loved her, too. He had taken such good care of her during her convalescence—from brushing her hair nightly, to changing her bandages, to telling her silly jokes to boost her spirits. His hands were so gentle and his voice so soothing, she simply fell more and more in love with him as each day passed. She knew that talking with her about Richard obviously was difficult for him, but he did so out of love and because she asked.

Matthew responded to her kiss by taking her into his arms, careful of her still-sore body, barely able to contain the love and desire he felt for her. She smelled of lavender and rosewater, which made him long for endless nights of pleasure once they were husband and wife. Although they had shared passionate kisses and caresses in the past, they had yet to be truly intimate. Certainly there had been no chance for intimacy as Mary recovered. But now Mary was pressing her warm body to his, and he could feel her heartbeat against his chest and her breasts rising and falling with each breath she took.

"Mary," he sighed into her mouth as his arousal raged. As much as he felt he should rein in his desire, especially after the conversation they'd just had, it was almost impossible. She had survived a horrendous ordeal, her spirit and loveliness intact. He loved her so, and he sensed she was giving herself to him, her yearning as intense as his.

She used her good hand to push his coat off his shoulders. She loosened his tie, and her fingers then fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, searching for access to his skin. A hum began in the back of her throat as her hand went from his chest to his back, her nails leaving trails of heat in their wake. She could not kiss him deeply enough, and their tongues began a sensuous dance. The kiss intensified as she purred _I love you I love you I love you_ with each breath, causing them to melt into each other, creating waves of passion neither of them was able to control.

Matthew pulled away and gazed at her intently, "My darling, are you sure? You're still so very fragile."

"Oh, Matthew, don't underestimate your hands' healing powers. I love you. I need you. Please."

His hands tenderly stroked her body, careful to avoid the bandaged wound in her side and only slightly thwarted by the cast on her arm. He bathed her in warmth as he moved to kiss her neck, and she leaned back to give him better access to the ivory expanse. He moved onto the bed, stretching out beside her and continuing to ply her throat and jaw with kisses. His hands went to the neck of her gown and undid five vertical aqua satin bows that ran down the front. He pulled back the fabric to reveal her breasts and exhaled deeply at the sight of her bare skin. He began to trail warm kisses from her neck down to her breasts. His mouth covered one of her nipples, gently sucking and tweaking it into a hard peak. He moved to her other breast, using his tongue to flit and stroke its nipple into a matching point, and Mary's back arched at the sensation. Matthew's mouth never had touched her in this way, and she began to gasp and moan, barely able to contain the desire kindled by his gentle ministrations. As his kisses continued, one of his hands moved beneath the covers and found its way to her hip and began pressing into her soft flesh, feeling her heat through her gown and massaging his way from her hip to her thigh and back again. His other hand fondled one breast as his mouth slaved over the other. They experienced overwhelming desire as their senses took over—touching, tasting, smelling, seeing, hearing—everything.

The left sleeve of Mary's gown had been removed to allow for the bulkiness of her cast, and her arm's immobility hindered her ability to embrace Matthew as fully as she wanted. Her good hand, though, found its way to his hair, and she pressed him harder to her chest, relishing the feeling of his lips and tongue on her breasts. She throbbed with desire, something she had experienced before with Matthew but never with this intensity. Her toes curled instinctively. Desire pooled inside her. She felt the urge to stretch her body to relieve the tension. It was as if a string were pulling her insides tighter and tighter while Matthew continued to stroke and kiss and knead and caress her body. She never had felt this kind of carnal hunger, and she was thrilled that her future with Matthew would be filled with ardent desire that only they ever would share.

"Please, Mary, may I touch you? I need to so very much," murmured Matthew as his hands continued to press against her flesh. He lifted his head from her breast, and Mary saw such love in the depths of his eyes that she momentarily was mute. She smiled her assent because she wanted his touch, wanted his hands to ease the throbbing in her core although she had no idea what she was permitting or what the end result would be.

As he reached for her, Mary whispered, "Please, Matthew, my gown. Take it off. All things will be permitted except…." Matthew nodded his understanding and moved the covers off her body, sliding one hand down her legs. Then he took the hem of her gown and gently raised it to her waist, her hips rising to ease its way. She grasped at his shirt, which he promptly removed. He raised her gown to her neck and helped her remove it, taking care not to jostle her arm. He stroked her exposed skin as she writhed under his touch. "I want us skin to skin. Please, my love, skin to skin. I want to touch you, too." Matthew stood, undid his belt, and removed his pants and undergarments. Mary stared at his body with expectant eyes. His body was perfect, she was sure—sculpted and trim. She really never had seen or touched a man's penis, despite her previous experience with Pamuk, so she was overcome with emotion when faced with Matthew's. "My God, you're so beautiful. I never imagined…." She took him in her hand and gently caressed his length, which elicited a moan that emanated deep from within Matthew's chest. "Come to me, Matthew. Please."

Matthew lay down beside her, kissed her gently, and ghosted his hand over her silk knickers. He touched between her thighs and moved up to her center where he discovered so much heat he nearly gasped. Mary moaned as his hand pressed against her core, her hips rising and falling in time with the pressure Matthew exerted on her. Then his hands moved to the waistband of her knickers and slowly pulled them down, exposing her willowy frame to the room's coolness and sending an erotic shiver through her body. Matthew could not believe how perfect her body was as his eyes drank in her radiant form. God, he almost had lost her! Her skin was silken and flawless except for the wound covered by the bandage. He stroked her trembling body from neck to hip and thought what a shame it was that something so perfect would have a man-made flaw. He pulled her leg gently toward him. He then moved his hand slowly up her inner thigh, found her center, reveled in the wetness he felt there, and proceeded to use his fingers to stroke her gently. He watched her reaction, aroused to see how quickly she responded to his touch and thrilled to know he would be the one who always would be the source of her fulfillment.

Nothing in her life could have prepared her for the feeling between her legs Matthew's hand generated, and as his fingers continued their pleasurable strokes, he began to kiss his way down her body, murmuring _I love you_ over and over, causing her body to ripple with desire. He swept his tongue into her navel then moved farther down. When he reached her coarse curls, he looked up at her, and she nodded, her eyes chocolate pools of longing. What he indicated he wanted to do was something she never could have imagined, but the thought of his mouth replacing his fingers made her quiver. His mouth found her clitoris, and he began to suck and manipulate it, which elicited a groan from her that seemed to start within her very soul. He then held his vibrating tongue to the bud until she began to tremble. She clutched his hair and believed truly that she would come apart as he continued to lick and suck his way to her center. Matthew was awakening levels of desire in her she never knew existed. She knew only that she never wanted him to stop.

Sensing that she had almost reached her breaking point, he kissed his way back up her body, and his fingers returned to her center. She took his face in her hand and kissed him passionately. She tasted her own essence in his mouth, surprised at its sweetness.

"Oh, God, Matthew," she sighed. "Promise me…promise me you'll never stop wanting me that way."

He smiled into her mouth, "I promise, my darling. I'll never tire of loving you…I'll want you in every way…forever."

They lay together, legs tangled in the sheets, as they stared into each other's eyes and committed the moment to memory. Mary wasn't sure how the pressure inside her body would be released, but she knew she didn't want Matthew's fingers to stop until it was. She gasped as he stroked her, her body on fire with longing, and her hips began to thrust against the force of his fingers. His eyes were dark as his voice rumbled with desire, "God, you're so wet. I want you to go over for me, Mary. Please, I want to watch you spend." Although Mary had only a vague idea of what he meant, instinct told her what was approaching would be something she would never forget. She lay back and allowed Matthew to have complete control as his hands continued to work their magic. With one hand he massaged her breasts, and he sucked her nipples until she thought surely she would faint. With his other hand, he continued to rub her clit and gently eased first one finger, then another, into her vagina, stroking her until she began to tremble uncontrollably, her pulse racing. Matthew's silken voice continued its refrain, "Open your eyes, Mary. Look at me, my love. You're going to spend for me now. Look at me. Let go."

The heat that started in her lower body was the beginning of the most intense physical sensations she had ever known. Her mind barely functioned. The tension moved through her body gradually, building into something indescribable—a pressure that combined ache with pleasure. As Matthew pumped his fingers into her and rolled her clitoris with his thumb, she felt a vibration in her belly that turned into waves and waves of pleasure coursing through her. Her body throbbed and jerked and shattered. She pulsed around his fingers; muscles she never knew she had were expanding and contracting inside her body. Her screams of release were muffled because she pressed her mouth into Matthew's shoulder; if she hadn't, she felt sure she would have brought all the Abbey's residents charging into the room.

She lay breathless in Matthew's arms for a few minutes before she was able to speak. "My God, what did you do to me?" she moaned into Matthew's shoulder, as the pulsation gradually subsided.

He chuckled softly, "That, my darling, was a classic spend. Did you enjoy it?"

She blushed and smiled. "I shouldn't think you'd need to ask. Wasn't it obvious?" She noticed he was still erect. "But what about you? Surely, you want to spend as well, don't you?"

"Don't worry about me. It soon will take care of itself. We have all the time in the world to satisfy each other." He kissed her gently.

Mary was having none of that. She wanted to reciprocate for his leading her to what she considered a milestone in her life as a woman. She reached over and began to touch him gently. "If you'll tell me what to do, I want to help you spend. Please, my love, let me," she said softly.

Matthew took her hand and wrapped it around his erection, encouraging her to stroke it. Fascinated, she watched as his manhood came alive and became even more engorged as she moved her hand up and down the shaft. She was surprised at the softness of his skin. She noticed fluid coming out of the tip, so she used her fingers to smooth it down the sides. It was obvious from his reaction that Matthew loved what she was doing because he moaned every time she changed her grip or spread more of the fluid around the tip. Looking at his face, she saw that his eyes were closed. She leaned in and kissed him passionately, wishing her cast did not prevent her from caressing the rest of his body. As she stroked him rhythmically, she moved her mouth down to his neck, applying open-mouthed kisses as he groaned in response. Mimicking his earlier actions, she began to move down his body, plying his torso with kisses. She leaned down and pressed her lips against the tip of his penis as she massaged it slowly, causing him to look toward her in shock. She smiled at him and licked away the fluid, savoring his moans of pleasure. His head fell back onto the pillow as she used her tongue and lips on him—tentatively at first—finding the experience not at all unpleasant. His hands roamed through her hair and massaged her scalp as she took him fully into her mouth.

Matthew was in heaven. Her mouth felt incredible, but he knew he had to stop her before he lost all control. He pulled her up alongside his body and kissed her passionately. Mary's hand replaced her mouth, and her hold on him was firm yet gentle. Her desire to please him had allowed her to set aside any inhibitions she might have had, and she rejoiced in her power to please him. Her lithe body pressed against him, and she rubbed her legs against his, which caused him to gasp for air. And his hands were not idle, either. They cupped her breasts tenderly, teasing her nipples with his thumbs. He was on the verge of his own climax when he felt Mary pressing her lower body into his hip. He turned slightly and moved his hand between her legs. The sensation of her hand gently caressing and squeezing his penis as he stroked between her legs made him nearly insane with desire. Mary, too, began to respond, her breaths shallow and her pulse quickening. Matthew's climax came first. His warning of "Mary!" alerted her, and she pumped him steadily as he spurted forcefully into her hand and onto her belly. As he spasmed, his hand gripped between her legs, which caused her to pulse under his fingers once again.

Breathless, they lay side-by-side, Matthew's arm around Mary's shoulders and her head nestled against his neck. Each one lost was in thought and pleasantly lethargic. They shared words of love and commitment, Mary confessing she never knew loving him would result in such amazing pleasure and joy.

"Mmmmm. I can hardly wait for you to be inside me—for us truly to make love," she sighed, as she settled into his side.

He kissed the top of her head and replied, "I feel the same way, my darling." With a wry grin he thought to himself, _Thank God, we don't have long to wait_.

As content as he was, though, Matthew found himself again thinking about what he'd seen at Haxby that day. Getting that obscene portrait out of the house was his first priority because he knew Mary would be mortified if its existence were discovered. And his stomach twisted at the thought that Mary might never have recovered if Richard had managed to commit the disgusting acts he had planned. Matthew was not opposed to sexual experimentation and believed he and Mary would discover all sorts of pleasurable acts together, but the idea of hurting her to achieve his own sexual satisfaction was abhorrent to him. He knew sexual depravity existed, but it was so far out of the realm of possibility as far as his own fantasies were concerned he couldn't imagine what would drive someone to participate in those kinds of activities. The idea of his Mary, his darling Mary, being used and abused so heinously by that monster made him want to kill Carlisle all over again.

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 _ **One more chapter to go….**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed but thanks especially to Apollo888 whose comments and support mean so much.**_

* * *

As it happened, Mary and Matthew didn't have another chance to share a bed before their wedding night, but they decided it only heightened their anticipation. She had almost completely recovered from her injuries (save for having to endure that damned cast!) and moved back into her bedroom. They laughed knowingly as Cora breathed a sigh of relief when Matthew returned to Crawley House. They held hands under the table during dinner although they never fooled anyone about what they were doing. They had to be content to take walks around the Abbey's grounds, always stopping to sit on what they considered "their bench" under the massive Lebanon cedar in order to share their hopes and dreams—and an occasional passionate kiss. Anytime they exchanged glances, Mary would blush as she remembered the thrill of his hands and mouth on her body; Matthew, too, would experience a surge of passion as he recalled the heat of her body and the gentleness of her touch. In a word, bliss had returned to their lives.

Unbeknownst to Mary, of course, two days before the wedding, Matthew and Robert returned to Haxby to remove the appalling portrait from Richard's study. As it happened, Richard's sister—as hardened a spinster as they had ever met—had arrived two weeks after the inquest and would not allow them access to the house. It took all of Matthew's persuasive legal skills (and charm, to his chagrin) to convince her to give him and Robert custody of the portrait, and to their great relief, she finally relented. They cut it from the frame, folded it like a tarp, and departed. Their relief was palpable, but they still had to dispose of it, so they hid it in an empty groundskeeper's shack far from the Abbey with the intention of burning it the following day.

The morning of the day before the wedding, Matthew woke to the sound of rain hitting his bedroom window. He arose and stretched, thinking to himself how soothing the rain sounded. Then he remembered, he and Robert were going to dispose of the portrait today, and they had decided to burn it in a clearing beyond a copse near the shack where it was hidden. The rain was a definite problem. He didn't know whether Robert had an alternate plan, but they had to come up with one soon. There were afternoon and evening festivities planned to celebrate tomorrow's ceremony, so there was no time to waste. After eating a hurried breakfast with Isobel, he headed for the Abbey.

Mary also awoke to the sound of rain, but she had no anxieties at all. For the third night in a row, she had slept without a cast on her arm, which allowed her to burrow into the covers and to enjoy the freedom to stretch and move afforded by her unfettered arm. She had convinced Dr. Clarkson to remove it, stating resolutely she had no intention of walking down the aisle with the wretched thing on her arm. He begrudgingly agreed but made her promise she would take care not to aggravate her arm by overusing it. The bandage on her wounded side was gone, too, although she bemoaned the fact that she would always bear the scars from the worst experience of her life. Matthew assured her it was her badge of honor, a symbol signifying her courage, but she felt he was just attempting to assuage her feelings. Still, she wouldn't fret; no one but she and Matthew (and Anna, of course) ever would see it again if she had anything to say about it. After Anna helped her to dress, she went downstairs and was shocked to see Matthew sitting at the table with her father. She didn't expect to see him until after luncheon, so his appearance was a pleasant surprise.

"You're here bright and early. How nice!"

"Robert and I have a few cottages to inspect, so we thought we'd get an early start."

"Heavens, in the rain? Surely you could postpone until the weather clears."

"Well, my darling, there's no guarantee the rain will stop anytime soon, and in case you've forgotten, I won't be around for the next six weeks." Matthew grinned, his mind conjuring images of their upcoming honeymoon.

"Oh, right." She blushed mightily and smiled. "Well, don't dawdle, you two. I have plans for you this afternoon."

"Don't worry, Mary, I won't keep Matthew long," said her father smoothly, and he and Matthew rose to start their day.

The rain _was_ a problem. Matthew and Robert were drenched by the time they reached the shack, and try as they might, they couldn't keep a fire lit in the clearing they had chosen for the painting's disposal.

"We'll just have to wait until the weather clears," said Robert. "I promise to take care of this as soon as I can. Don't worry."

Matthew trusted that Robert _would_ take care of it. He knew how horrified Robert was by the painting's existence, just as he was. It sickened Matthew to think about Mary's likeness depicted in the throes of passion being ogled by Richard Carlisle as he sat at his desk. Only he knew the beauty and sensuality of Mary's body, and he could hardly wait to discover more of its curves and angles. The fact that Richard almost ruined the perfection Matthew had waited so patiently to uncover drove him almost to distraction. He was determined to overcome these feelings, but it was difficult—mainly because the painting was concrete proof of Richard's obsession. He clenched his jaw and thought the sooner it was destroyed, the better.

That evening after everyone had gone to bed to dream of weddings, flowers, cake, and honeymoons, a tremendous thunderstorm formed over Downton. An anomaly to be sure, there was driving rain, booming thunder, and streaks of lightning so vivid they lit up the sky for minutes at a time. As the storm raged, light sleepers practically were shaken from their beds, and it would prove to be a topic of discussion for days afterward. Long ago, people would have assumed the gods were at war or were venting their anger at the earth below so remarkable was the tempest. During the height of the storm, one particular lightning bolt coursed through the heavens and found its target: the shack that held the vile painting on the Abbey's grounds. It blew through the roof, its charge electrifying the interior, and the shack burst into flames.

* * *

The morning of the wedding dawned clear and bright, the atmosphere around Downton Abbey washed clean by the storm. The day was filled with promise, and the two lovers who would vow to love and honor each other forever prepared for the most important day of their lives.

Robert had been informed of the shack's destruction, so early that morning he went to the site to see it for himself. The ruins were smoldering, and small hot spots continued to flare up as if the destruction of the shack needed to be absolute. He watched for a while with grim satisfaction; then he returned to the Abbey to prepare to give his beloved daughter away to the man they both loved.

* * *

On the way to the train station after the wedding reception, Matthew and Mary sat together in the back of the motor. Holding hands and smiling in anticipation of the honeymoon to come, they were, indeed, blissfully happy. Mary glanced out her window and said to her husband, "Oh, look, darling. Something must be burning behind that copse."

Matthew leaned over to look. "Yes, it appears so," he said softly. Then he sat back in the seat, wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders, and smiled an enigmatic smile as smoke and ash rose gently into the vibrant blue sky.

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